


A Ride in the Country

by yuletide_archivist



Category: 3:10 to Yuma (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-22
Updated: 2007-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wade has a question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ride in the Country

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Holly

 

 

A Ride in the Country

It wasn't much harder to get off that train than it was to get on it. 

Truth told, they weren't watching me very close. I was going peaceful-like, right? I'd just put myself aboard, for reasons they couldn't begin to fathom. 

As if Dan dead at my feet weren't reason enough. But really, maybe, it was the boy. 

I saw it in him - the bloodlust. Thoughts ticking over behind his eyes while he held his piece on me for a short eternity. And then the decision. Not because he was yellow: he wasn't. Saw that in his eyes too. Naw. He was being fair. 

I hadn't shot his pa, and I'd done for those that did. Bbloodthirsty Charlie. He never did know when killing was necessary, and when it wasn't. 

Brave of William to turn his back on me like that, though, when he lowered his piece and tended to his pa. 

And what the hell was I supposed to do? Dan was dead, after everything said and done. No choice of mine. I'd made it as right as I could, but there was one thing more I could do, and so I stepped up and climbed aboard and handed over my gun. I was on the damn train to Yuma after all, wasn't I? See that, Pinkerton man? 

The train was being watched. I knew that. Knew that William would end up with his pa's pay for getting me there. He'd got me on the 3:10; the deed was done. It was money he'd needed bad enough to die for. It was the least I could do, that point in the day. 

That's not the same as agreeing to go to Yuma, though. 

Trooper's my horse. Near best horse I ever had, and whistle-trained. You have to do that, in range country, or you run yourself ragged trying to catch an ornery critter who doesn't want to be saddled one fine morning when you're in a hurry. I can't afford that kind of ruckus in my line of work, so all my mounts are trained to come when I whistle. I just made sure to give that toot while we were passing near the cattle pens, not out of earshot - horses have pretty good ears, but there's a limit to what they can hear over the chuff of a locomotive, I suppose. I wasn't going to take a chance on missing my ride out of there, and in the end, that wasn't a problem after all. 

The train takes a lazy S curve leaving town. Rolling into that curve, I stood and stretched, angling my head to peer out the window while I did so. Yep - there were horse-ears bobbing along and coming up fast. outside. Bobbing faster, too, as the train picked up a little speed. Trooper can put on a good burst of speed, but he can't pace a train forever. My time was now or never. 

Just about as easily done as said. The train swayed, rolling into that curve, and I took a stagger-step with it - a step that carried me towards the counter where they'd put my gun. It wasn't secured yet, I guess because everyone knew it was empty: they'd all just heard me fire every bullet in the cylinder when I was putting my idiot crew down. I snatched leather; stepped back towards the open door - not closed yet, on this hot day and the train speeding up, but that was their own foolish mistake. Another sharp whistle at the "hurry up" pitch; my stride carried me to the threshold. "'Bye, gents," I said. 

I didn't even look back over my shoulder. There was my boy, cantering nice and easy outside the door, pretty as you please. A short jump and I was in the saddle, then veering away from tracks and off down the dry wash beside it. Out of sight of any watching eyes from town. 

Off and gone.

* * * * * The Evans spread wasn't hard to find. Ranchers and cowhands knew my name, but not many actually knew my face. I asked around till I found the place, and the shallow-pan lake nearby where William took his herd to water. 

I rode up to his fire in full dark when he was fixing his supper: bacon crisping, a pot bubbling and the smell of coffee in the air. He stiffened and dropped his hand to his gun butt, and then sat still, just staring at me. I nodded towards the fire. 

"Mind if I join you?"

A muscle clenched in his jaw but he ducked his chin, sharply, and took his hand off his gun. I climbed down and he reached me over a coffee cup. 

"Obliged," I said.

His voice was sharp. "Why are you here?"

I sipped the coffee. How could I explain that now and then it's good to turn a gang upside down, even send 'em all packing? Keeps the ambitious ones guessing, and winnows out the heavy baggage. I don't usually gun 'em down to achieve that goal, but what's done is done. 

Instead, I jerked a thumb towards the cattle bedding down between fire and lakeside. "Hard living, out here." 

William waited, silent. 

I cleared my throat. "Thought I'd ask if you want to ride with me. I'm looking for some good men. Need someone with grit."

He met my eyes, and I saw it again: the thoughts ticking over in his head, the hard grip on his self-control. He considered it, he truly did. And then he disappointed me. 

"No," he said. "That's not for me." 

I shrugged, like it didn't matter. "I had to ask." 

He nodded, and pulled the bacon off the fire. 

We ate supper, and never spoke another word. When I rode off, he was staring off at his cattle herd. His herd, and a life I'll never have. 

Maybe it was the right decision. But like I told him: I had to ask. 

 


End file.
